Life's Hard(But It's All You've Got)And All You Get(Is a Broken Heart)
by TheResurrectionist
Summary: (Also known as How Sam Met Jess) Powers!YellowEyed!Sam saves Jessica Moore, simple as that. Or is it? 2nd person POV dark fic. Rated M for torture. "Winchester frowns slowly, eyes going almost as black as the pupils dilate in what you assumes is anger, and you're sure his eyes are yellow now, because you can feel them going through you like a knife."


Life's Hard/But It's All You've Got/And All You Get/Is A Broken Heart

A/N Supposedly in this Dean is dead, Sam has his jacket, Sam had powers before he met Jessica, and the unexplainable is simply not explained. Drop me a review if you liked! ;)

You know he's there-you can hear the click creak of his shoes as he walks across the floor, the slight laugh that rumbles every few seconds, when he calls your name like a trap-"Won't you come out, little rabbit? Here, girl!" And you shake your head slightly, lips pressed as you grip the gun tighter, hands clenching so hard they'll cramp later, but you hold back the pain and the tears and pray he doesn't find you, you pray that he doesn't look in the closet.

The closet where you're hiding, that is.

There's a few boxes in front of you, and you can smell the old clothing hanging above you, soft and dusty like old memories you can't focus on now, can't because the thud thud of your heart is so loud, and HE's out there.

He's not like he was, you know. He would never threaten you like this. He wouldn't have a knife, and a wicked gleam in eyes you didn't know were so black and all you can do is close your eyes and pray.

The footsteps seem to dance closer every minute, creaking so near you that stars flash before your eyes and you begin to wonder if this is your last minute, your last memory of earth the bottom of your closet.

You don't move a muscle as he taunts you. Even when he brings up the fight, the breakup.

You take one hand off and press a fist into your moth when he croons to you, and you can't stop the tears because you know that voice, and yet, you don't. Something's gone twisted, and somewhere deep inside of you you know that's not him, not him.

He calls out again, sharp words juxtaposition to the soft pleading he'd employed a few seconds earlier.  
He know you're here, somewhere.

Hell, maybe he knows where you are.

Maybe he's just waiting, hunting his prey slowly, building the terror inside of you until all you want to do is throw yourself out and scream, beg him to end it all.

You know he would. With that sharp blade and a wicked smile. Quick as a flash, or maybe slow like that desert road you went camping by that one time (seemed like years again but now you're not sure) so slow that you'd beg even more.

The worst part, however, is when the taunts stop. When all there is outside the closet door is silence, so demanding and pressing that you know he's found you, you know that from that one moment of silence, the point in the hunt where he relishes your fear.

The gun's knocked out of your hands when he snakes an arm through the door and grabs you.  
You try to grab it, and you fight, hell, you kick and scream like they taught you in school, but no one's going to hear you, and screaming's only going to make him happier.

He drags you by the hair, which is so ironic to you that you almost start laughing then and there.  
A small distant memory. Wasn't he the one who convinced you to grow out your hair? "I like it long." Were his words.

Ha.

Blonde hair was a lucky color to have, someone told you once. You wish you didn't have any hair right now.

X

You know he's stopped because the pain fades slightly-not all the way, nowhere near-but the knife stops cutting you and there's a brief pause, only a few seconds, but it drags on like hours, the fear that he'll start again but not knowing when almost worse than the pain. Because there's nothing you can do about it. And he knows it.

You tried pulling on the ropes earlier, because your brother was in the Boy Scouts and he taught you a thing or two about knots, but these are tight and unyielding, and you spilled the first blood earlier before he'd even picked up the knife.

The knife that has a point like a star, a diamond winking before it slides into you.

You won't even think about why he's here, because you know HE would never do this, but the face is real, the voice is the same, but you know something's wrong with him, but talking to him doesn't help unless you're screaming. He likes it when you scream.

X

It's a few hours later when he puts down the knife, after carefully slicing through you so you'll feel everything but not bleed out. He's like an artist in some way, your brain thinks. You don't remember his hands being so nimble but the knife dances and carves like he's done it all his life(and maybe he has) but you just don't know.

Your screams get a little weaker each time, which you know makes him happy.

But you hold on.

When he leaves (just a few minutes, babe, don't go anywhere) you take a breath and quell the scream bubbling up. There's no use screaming anyway. Not when you're alone in your dead end apartment, and there's a gag in your mouth. Not that your neighbors would care if try heard. Going to college hasn't exactly paid well.

You watch, transfixed, as the blood mixes with your sweat, curling and mixing down the side if your arm. You watch it because otherwise you'd scream again.

The door jostles slightly, and the noise goes through you like a lance. You can remember his knife so clearly, white hot yet cool and the ghost of it is pulling at you, and you should have tried to escape why didn't you why didn't you-

It's not him.

A man enters, tall and muscled, a mix you usually didn't see in a town like Palo Alto, where the men were slim and tan. They weren't like this man.

You're not sure why that was your first thought.

He moved with an effortless grace, almost primal in a way, every step calculated. You've never seen someone so tall move like this, like shadows and light.

His face is handsome and chiseled, like an old statue, and for a second you're not sure if he's even real, if maybe he's a made up hero your brain threw forward because you have no options left.

His eyes are cold. You realize that when he steps into the moonlight. They were closed off and a little distant, like there was another person he was looking for.

You begin to feel they fear again, because maybe for just a second you think he's here to continue, not to save you, and you begin to struggle. The ropes still don't budge.

When he sees you struggling, the cool mask drops and suddenly he seems human again.  
Large, beautiful green eyes reflect the light from the window, worried but calm.

"Shhhhhhhh." He says softly, placing his hands to his lips. You stop shaking as you eye him a little closer and see the sincerity plain on his face.

"I've got you."

Tears flow down your face as he loosens the ropes around your hands and feet, and you think you made a sound of gratitude, but it's hard to tell through the gag.

"It's alright." He says reassuringly as he takes the gag off.

His voice is melodic, almost, so different from the ugly baby talk HE used earlier.  
Animal grace and quick reflexes catch you when you try to stand. Callused hands catch you and lift you up and cradle you, careful of your chest where the cuts are still bleeding.

You hiss a little when the cuts reopen, but you're grateful you're free and you're getting out and HE's not coming back.

"What's your name?" He asks after checking you over, and because he's a gentleman he takes his coat off and lays it on your shoulders. The leather's warm, the musky smell of oil and something else you can't determine wafting up at you.

Because HE took your clothes, ripped off your pants and top like tissue paper and you didn't know you were shivering until he put the coat on you.

"Jessica." You say coolly after a second, and if he's surprised at how calm it sounded, he doesn't show it.  
He smiles reassuringly at you as he grabs a gun from the small of his back, and the flash of white teeth in the dark distracts you from the fact that, holy crap, he has a gun.

"Don't worry." He says softly. "It's nice to meet you, Jessica. I'm going to get you out of this."  
He doesn't offer a name. He also doesn't tell you how he knows you were in this (Whatever this is) in the first place, either.

"Great." You say slightly sarcastically, because, hey, why not tease the guy trying to save you?  
Your would be savior smiles. "I'll try my best, Ms. Jessica."

Said none too sarcastic himself.

A polite AND sarcastic boy. You're about to tease him back (and god you're actually smiling) when footsteps echo up the back stairs and you know HE's back and it won't be long before the world crashes down around your feet again.

HE comes in then.

You're not sure what you expected, but when HE growls out a name at the new man, you know it was the last thing you expected.

"Winchester." HE snarls, and your hero pushes you behind him a little, standing in front of you on legs so long the denim seems to go on forever.

You swear you saw Winchester's eyes flash yellow as they gaze at HIM, but you're behind him suddenly and all you can see is his back and you're perfectly fine being mostly sane and slightly protected there.  
HIS eyes are black again. You can tell by the tone of voice, because HIS eyes always went black when he spoke like this, a deep growl like a caged animal.

It's terrible.

Winchester's voice is sharp when he responds, so different from his soft speech earlier that you almost think it's a different person.

"I thought most of you were back in Hell." He snarls back at the demon, waves of hate flashing through the room like a satellite.

HE goes rigid, eyes a deep black so full of hate that you want to look away, but you can't you can't you can't…

"We are. Thanks to you." HE says, and it was totally your fault that you got snatched by a lunatic and saved by one who's just as crazy, huh?

"Speaking of," Your hero says slowly, drawing it out crudely. "Why aren't YOU?"

HE hisses like a cat, spit flying out and landing on your floor.

"I'm here to take what's my fair share. Fair hunting grounds, fair game, am I right, Hunter?"  
Hunter?

Winchester frowns slowly, eyes going almost as black as the pupils dilate in what you assumes is anger.  
"No." He says back to HIM simply, but a roll of something goes through the room then, and you're sure his eyes are yellow now, because he looks back at you for a second.

They're sharp, piercing, cold and everything you saw in HIS eyes.

Except for the small bit of the soft voiced green eyed man you see underneath. The loosening of his mouth when his eyes fall on you.

"Cover you ears and close your eyes." He says quickly to you, and you listen. You're not sure why, but you do, cause hey, what are the odds you're actually going to make it out of here alive anyway?

There's a deep rumbling sound, not one you could hear, but feel as it vibrated through the whole room. The lights shatter, and you know this because you can feel the little bits of glass raining down in your hair.  
There's a scream, long and terrible, and even if you can't hear it all the way, it bites at you, and claws and throws you back to your time in the chair when all you could do was scream, and that's what you do.

There's silence then, and then a large pair of hands cupping your face.

You've curled up into a ball on the floor, you realize. Winchester draws your hands away from your face slowly, and you stand carefully with him in the glass.

HE's gone. Not even a smear on the ground. Just the glass and the echo of that terrible scream stay behind.  
You turn around and flinch when you see his eyes.  
They're still yellow, inhuman and almost otherworldly.

You don't ask how he got HIM away. You don't ask why the gun's tucked away and all you can see is slight burn marks on his palms. (Because you noticed those)

He sees you flinch and closes his eyes, taking a deep breath and releasing it, and when he opens them again, they're a soft, deep green, and everything's fine again.

"Y'all right?" He asks almost like he's tired.  
"Yeah," You say after a second. "Yeah, I'm fine. Can we just go?"  
He nods. "Careful." He says as you step over the glass.

It doesn't matter. The pain's trivial to everything else that happened tonight.

X

When you get outside, where the sidewalk's cool and the wind is too, you take a breath and ask him what his name is.  
"Sam." He says, smiling slightly.  
"Hi Sam," You tell him.  
"I'm Jessica."

Fin.

A/N Drop me a review? Pleassee? JK. Maybe….maybe J


End file.
